


Locker Room Rams

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Dry Humping, Frottage, Fully Clothed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request from tumblr for some Soccerstuck porn! John Egbert is center striker for Team Prospit, and Dave is.. well. Dave is practically married to the bench, with 0 playing time. Attitudes tend to strike up between the two friends in the locker room after games, but this time? It's ended quite differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locker Room Rams

“Hey! Waterboy! Having fun keeping the bench from being stolen?”

“Kiss it, Egbert, you just wish you could have some of this bench. But y’know what? You can’t. Because I’m guarding it so hard you wouldn’t be able to touch it. Come on, I dare you, try to lay one sweaty hand on it, it’ll disappear in the blink of an eye.”

This again.

While Teams Prospit and Derse were obviously head to head on the field, at least two of the members were close friends off of it. Well. Not as if they’d ever clashed head to head in the first place personally, given that Dave never got to play.

No, literally. Never once got to play. From day one through current times, he had set foot on the field only once during game play, and that was because the coach had forgotten there were two Dave’s on the team. No calls for Strider. No extra Dave’s needed, except as the one man guard of the Gatorade and water, adverse of all things black and white.

Where Dave was practically married to the bench, John was center striker for Team Prospit. Nicknamed ‘TheHammer’, he powered through the opposing teams defenses, scoring most of the points that drove their winning percentages so high. He was the one being hiked up on teammate’s shoulders. He was the one in the center of it all. He was the one getting to be out in the thick of the games, laughing it up.

Dave showed up, drank Gatorade, acted as soccer ball repellent and played on his cellphone while wearing Hello Kitty socks. As if he’d bother wearing the full uniform when he knew for a damn fact he’d never get to go out on the field for whatever reason. He prided himself as much on being the bench mascot and the locker room king as anything else.

At least, while John wasn’t around to kind of accidentally on purpose rub it in his face before they went home, washing his face off while Dave surfed him websites on his cellphone.

“Dave, it’s sort of turning into a joke now. It’s sad! I’ve wanted to play against you ever since the season began, but you always seem to be allergic to actually going on the field.”

“They don’t put me in. There’s a difference between being told not to play because I’m too awesome, and being too bad to play.”

“Says the guy with absolutely no playing time to the guy who’s on the fast track to the championship,” John muttered as he walked back towards Dave’s bench, drying his face on a hand towel and slipping his glasses back on. The insult to injury was the pat to Dave’s head from behind. It came off as condescending, annoying. Pretentious.

Admittedly, he was more annoyed about this prodding and teasing than usual, sore spot not being worked over so much as stabbed with small knives. More accurately, Dave was being crushed by the large blunt hammer that was John’s entire personality as of late.

The hand on his head was slapped off sharply before he turned and shoved the brunette, wanting to get him off. Wanting to make him shut up, bristling with aggression. One could only handle so many jokes, so much teasing, before it grew absolutely tiresome. For fucks sake, if he wanted to be teased about soccer, he’d hear it from his brother. Anyone but John, someone who constantly got to play. Let someone who didn’t do sports at all rag on him about it instead.

“Hey, lay off. You’re not so fucking perfect out there. Trust me, I’d know, I’ve got more than enough time to see all the times you mess up. Every little foot fall, every near miss? Even the things you make I can tell you a thousand ways it could have gone wrong if the other player was even halfway paying attention to how you moved.”

The words came out bitter as the blonde stood, drawing up proudly in his Hello Kitty socks, indignant. They were also a lot of bullshit considering he paid more attention to John’s ass and face than his game. More attention to his phone than the rest of the team’s happenings. But he had to save face, and nobody mocks a Strider. Not even John.

He had at least save a bit of face before it blew over like all the other times they’d been douchebags to each other. A little shoving, a little bitching, and they’d be back to normal. Likely laughing at one thing or another before they went their separate ways to go home for the evening.

Until John shoved him back, anger etched on his face. It looked like this was going to turn in to one of their extended grudge matches, butting heads like two young rams, pitting strength versus strength directly instead of words alone. Alright, then, if that’s how he wanted it.

“Oh yeah? Well.. Well, at least I show up in uniform! You don’t even care anymore, you don’t even try. That’s probably why there’s no hope of you ending up in a game, they know better! You’re just the dead weight to meet the extras requirement in case someone dies of stupid on the field.”

“Oooh, burn, Egbert. You stay up all night practicing for that? Lame.”

“Your face is lame.” Another shove to offset the bad comeback, face flushing from embarrassment over the flub.

“Your comebacks are lame, and you’re lame as your game. Don’t get up in my face, man, I’ll keep tellin’ you the same. You jus-“

Another hard shove knocked Dave almost over the bench, stumbling from the flow of dropping a quick rhyme to right his trajectory. Yeah, he looked silly, but falling over would look even dumber. Oh, that did it. There was Hell to pay.

“Egbert, nobody interrupts a man setting sick fires. Nobody. That’s like, way the fuck up there on the no-no list, you got any manne-“ Another shove cut him off, stumbling a step back before returning fire, charging to give a solid shove back. They were quickly approaching the ram stage, circling, looking for openings.

“Lame-o!”

“Nerd.”

“Loser!”

“Don’t go confusing me with you, Egbert, we’re a different species from each other on the levels of cool.”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t know cool if it gave you rabies!”

The shoving was growing more intense up till this point, each return fire gaining momentum until they were up in each other’s faces trying to make the other back off. Neither was gaining any ground, straining, until John did the unthinkable, reaching up to snatch off Dave’s shades.

Dave retaliated by snarling incoherently, leaping at John, knocking them both off balance, knocking his thick rimmed glasses off. They skittered across the floor, his shades following suit a moment later as they rolled and struggled, wrestling for dominance like a couple of idiots against the concrete.

There was no honor in doing things this dumb.

There was also no hiding the awkward pangs of arousal as they flailed, all knees and elbows, trying to pin each other down by the chest or wrists to ‘win’. Just like their other fights that had divulged this far, right?

Right?

Their last full-fledged wrestling match had ended because, like most boys their age, they’d gotten awkward boners and shuffled apart to opposite sides of the room like crabs. It was never spoken of again. Now, they were in the exact same situation, still annoyed, twice as embarrassed. The only slightly positive thing was that with each shift, there was friction, making them stutter their movements.

Making them hiss air through their teeth and falter in the fight.

Maybe, possibly, making them each subconsciously shift their hips more than trying to beat the other into a pulp.

When John slipped up and moaned, there was no going back, cat let out of the bag and straight onto the hot tin roof of hormones. In Dave’s mind, they needed to be quiet, lest anyone somehow, somewhere hear them. You know, without seeing two sixteen year olds sprawled out on the floor casually rutting against each other while half-heartedly pretending to still be fighting.

It was at least a decent enough excuse in his mind to press his mouth over John’s, muffling the sound. Drawing out more by accident as the sudden movement caused more friction for him, wriggling, moving his hips against Dave’s for revenge as they lay side by side. Then, repeating the gesture timidly a few times, testing, for his own purposes as he tried to roll and pin him down.

Within minutes, the fighting was forgotten in favor of focused rutting, moving their mouths, trying so hard to avoid accidentally knocking their teeth together, or thinking about what any of this meant. Thinking about it made it harder to focus on the fact that it felt AMAZING, and that they were each already so close to finishing.

Embarrassingly close, it turns out, as both teens ended up shivering and crying out in under five minutes, mussing the inside of their shorts. Panting, they stayed still, dazed, stoned from the rush of endorphins, lazily kissing at one another. When they calmed, hearts slowing, breath controlled, they caught each other’s eyes and froze.

The boys stared awkwardly, deer caught in dual headlights as it dawned on them what they must have looked like. They’d gone down fists swinging, and had ended up attached at the mouth, blatantly dry humping, proof that sudden mind numbing arousal was indeed a thing that could happen.

That had happened.

It was way too much for the two of them to process. Did they both feel the same and like each other like that? Were they dating now? Was it okay to do more? Were they outright gay, or was it just something that had happened? Would it happen again in the future? Should they talk about it?

Being the terrified teenagers they were, neither of them talked about it, tried to find out about it. Didn’t push further. They couldn’t, you see. It was totally beyond their power to talk about it, hands tied by their situation.  
Namely that it was nigh impossible to have a deep meaningful conversation when both parties had separated like their asses were on fire, racing for their respective eyewear and slapping it on. Clambering, sticky, there was hurrying to their respective bags without saying anything more important than a few too-loud laughs and joking assurances of ‘no homo’.

It would be several months before they dropped the ‘no homo’ act in favor for a pre-planned repeat in a more private place. It would take nearly a year for them to begin dating.

**Author's Note:**

> Original tumblr post- http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/34155816571/i-got-a-personal-request-to-write-soccerstuck-porn


End file.
